Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

Road Kill

The road from home from the Big O was littered with stalled vehicles from the people who died in transit. I hung onto the roll bar for dear life while the truck weaved in and out of the stilled traffic. I let out a "woo-hoo," joining a cacophony of "woo-hoos" from my female partners flanking me in the back of the black pickup truck.

August, on my right, was the living incarnation of Xena, the Warrior Princess. In addition to her height, the striking long chocolate hair, and facial features akin to a mulatto, she had muscles that would put a good number of men to shame. She was the leader of our little group and we were all happy to follow her abjectly.

Until I met her, I had no idea how much I needed a friend. August was a strong woman mentally and physically, but socially she was gentle and nurturing. Despite her lethal skill set, she exuded something undeniably peaceful. She was what held us all together when the world threatened to pull us apart.

Haden Summers, on my left, was for all intents and purposes August's first sidekick. She was an intense woman with straight muddy blond hair that reached her shoulders. She was loud, arrogant, forceful, and a little bit crazy, but she made things fun.

The truck jerked around another car, threatening my foothold. Haden braced herself on the bedside to yell around into the driver's side window. "Is that the best you can do?" she yelled loud enough to keep the wind from swallowing her words.

She was given a meaty fist with a raised middle finger from the driver as her answer. She laughed and pulled back. August slammed her hand against the roof a couple times and the truck slowed down.

Devin Reed, our designated driver, was August's second sidekick. He was a brawny young stud that could have made his living as a model in his pre-apocalyptic life. His tawny waves and chiseled Kirk Douglas chin were too much to resist, let alone his disarming charm.

Devin was a reckless thrill seeker with a knack for driving and fighting in the new world. Speeding through the melee of traffic was his favorite part of our trips into and out of the city. He loved dodging through the metal obstacle course as fast as his pickup would take him. As he put it: That's what a Dodge is named for.

Devin slid open the back window and handed out three football helmets. August passed one to each of us. We put them on and inserted the attached mouth guards. When we were all properly protected from concussions and broken teeth, we took a firm grip of the roll bar. August hammered her fist on the roof, signally Devin that we were ready.

The truck picked up speed until it reached the off-road section in the highway. Through the many trips to the Metro, we had managed to push or pull the most obtrusive vehicles out of our way so we had a clear path to and from. Unfortunately, one particular spot on the highway was an absolute mess: Too many overturned semi-trucks and not enough room to get by.

Instead of weaving through, Devin veered off the road into a cornfield that bore the tracks of our many trips. The rutted ground sent vibrations through my arms, and it was all I could do to hold on. Haden yelled and hooted as she released one hand to ride her bull like a real cowboy. I admired her spirit, but sometimes I thought she had a death wish.

Truth be told, I think we all did. There's nothing quite like being the last one picked for a cosmic game of dodgeball. I didn't know much about the guidelines for inclusion in the end of days, but I was pretty sure I got the shaft. Most of the people left behind were either outright atheist or devil worshipers in some form or another. One of the exceptions to the most was me. I was never really religious, but I certainly wasn't an atheist.

However, I learned that admitting you aren't an atheist is a bad idea. People tend to look poorly on you, as if you're trying to be better than them. I've even seen people get stoned for such anti-heresy.

Since God rejected us, there was only one thing we could do to fill the emptiness we all felt: Embrace the apocalypse with open arms and pretend we didn't give a crap about heaven, angels, and fluffy clouds. It was the sour grapes theory at its best. So instead of sulking or slowly descending into madness, we tried to have as much fun as possible.

Since the new world was basically the old world, just with fewer people, it was easy to find something to keep us entertained. There were just enough people left to keep basic utilities functional. Driving was never an issue because the demand for fossil fuels plummeted to record lows. Food was readily available at the supermarket as long as you could tolerate the smell of moldy vegetables and rotten meat.

Shopping was a dream come true. Money was no longer a functional exchange method, so we just took whatever we wanted. Poetically, all the things I thought I wanted when I was a minimum-wage grocery checker didn't matter when there wasn't endless advertising telling me to want it.

There was even a radio station that broadcasted rock music in addition to the witty repartee of Jimmy the Card. He kept the tri-state area population up-to-date on the grim movements, as well as letting us know where we could get fresh fruits and vegetables. His radio program had become as central to our lives as our favorite television shows used to be.

The truck came to the end of the off-road path and we ramped back up onto the highway. My feet flew out from beneath me and I let out a squeal that I tried to pass off as a "wee!" August laughed and helped me back up.

Devin punched the roof and August pulled her helmet off to poke her head in the back window. He told her something and she popped her head out to look down at the road ahead. She turned to us and nodded forward. "Grim straight ahead."

I peered over the roof and saw the shiny skinned corpse standing on the highway. Unlike the things that go bump in the night, the grim were not opposed to making daytime appearances. Though they generally did most of their major movements at night, they could pop up whenever the desire to harm a living being arose—which was pretty often.

"Oh, yeah." Haden removed her helmet and picked up a baseball bat from the truck bed. "This one's mine." She poised herself over the wheel well and tried a few practice swings. Her face was contorted with the grin of a predator about to sink her teeth into her prey. It was all a game to her, but I was still getting used to the idea of hunting the glimmer grim for sport.

As we passed it, Haden slammed her bat into the corpse. Satisfying pink shards erupted from the creature's head like candy from a piñata. She raised her hands over her head triumphantly, while August and I cheered her on, and Devin honked the horn in approval.

All in all, life after the apocalypse was pretty good for us.